Chapter One

 

This Contract is entered into by Guinevere Pendragon and Midas (no last name given) willingly and knowingly.  Each party wishes to define their rights and obligations under the arrangement herein discussed and attest that they fully understand all its terms, conditions, clauses, and caveats.  The purpose of this Contract is to ensure there will be no misunderstanding in the future and to facilitate a smooth and profitable partnership.

Clause 1- General Purpose of Contract

 

Gold could buy many things.

Palaces.  Armies.  Women.  Just about anything a man could want, really.

But gold couldn’t buy class.

At least, that’s what everyone told him.  All his life, Midas had been trying to prove them wrong.  He refused to accept that there was anything in existence that he couldn’t purchase.

Class was proving to be an elusive item on his shopping list, though.  He’d tried to acquire it in a thousand different ways and he’d still come up empty.  Maybe it was hopeless.  Maybe class was just an innate quality that some people were born with and most people weren’t.  That possibility never seemed as frustratingly true as when he saw Arthur’s wife entered the ballroom.

She was shivering and soaking wet from the rain.  Her dress was so worn that it was falling apart.  Her body was frail, her pale hair a bedraggled mess around her colorless face.  In her arms, she carried a small girl who couldn’t have been more than five.  Quite frankly, Guinevere Pendragon looked as if she’d just walked straight through hell itself, carrying her daughter on her hip.

And somehow she was still the only woman in the room.

All around Midas, the finely-dressed guests at the party transformed.  Their lavish clothes and priceless jewelry became gaudy.  Their artful, cutting laughter suddenly seemed grating.  Their carefully made up faces now looked overblown and fake.  Next to Guinevere, all the illusions they had crafted for themselves fell away and revealed the common tin under their gilded surfaces.

Imitations would always look like imitations when you set them next to the genuine article.  When you compared them to the best.

From his perch on the balcony, Midas’ golden eyes sited on Guinevere and he saw what he could never have.  He had more money than he could ever spend and enough power to change the course of history, but he didn’t possess what this tiny woman wore like perfume.

Class.

His detractors were right.  Midas could try and fake it, but his efforts no doubt looked just as artificial as the rest of the partygoers’.  In that moment, he saw the truth.  You couldn’t bullshit class.  Couldn’t pick it up like a new language.  Couldn’t bibbity-bob it into existence with a fairy godmother.  It was quite simply bred in the bone.  Guinevere had it and he wanted it.

And if she was coming to Midas, she must want something from him, too.

Satisfaction filled him.  He’d been right, too.  Everything was for sale, if you offered the right price.  Everything.  Midas believed that with a fervor other men reserved for God and kingdom.  If he couldn’t buy class itself, he’d simply own someone who possessed it.  It amounted to the same thing.

Every day, people showed up at his custom-designed castle to pay homage and beg favors.  Guinevere might be royalty, but she was no different in that respect.  He could already tell.  She needed something desperately or she would’ve stayed far away.

They’d certainly never met before.  Arthur would roll over in his tomb before he’d let his pristine bride within a mile of the Kingpin.  Their dearly departed ruler was quoted as calling Midas a “violent predator who lured innocents into his evil clutches.”  It was all right there in the trial transcripts, along with other memorably colorful phrases such as “upstart commoner,” “mindless gorilla” and “tawdry, feral animal.”

The “tawdry” part was just a low-blow, in Midas’ opinion, but the jury sure had liked it.

In any case, classy noblewomen and their sleeping daughters usually stayed far, far away from Midas and his home. Especially with the Round Table about to begin.  The guests at his bacchanalia were the worst the kingdom had to offer.  Soulless predators in the sometimes literal sense of the words.  A lady like Guinevere would never willingly walk through his front door.

Not unless she was completely out of options.

Two of the ogres Midas employed as guards moved in, wanting to know Guinevere’s business at the party.  Midas had to stop himself from interfering as they loomed over her.  His instincts told him to stalk down there and clear her path.  The feeling was so strong that his free palm tightened on the banister in front of him, the leather glove clenching around the gold railing.  He forced himself to wait and see what she’d do.

Clearly, his men planned to toss Gwen out on her sweet little ass.  Just as clearly, she didn’t plan to leave.  Midas expected tears or pleading.  Instead the woman squared her shoulders and faced them down, ready for a fight.

His head tilted at the show of strength.

Interesting.

“What the hell is she doing here?”  Jill Hill demanded, coming up beside him.  “How dare she show her fucking face at this party!”

Midas didn’t even glance in Jill’s direction.  “You know the queen?”  Somehow he doubted it.  They didn’t exactly run in the same social circles.  Jill operated the most exclusive “gentleman’s club” in Camelot and Guinevere… did whatever the hell royalty did with their frivolous lives.  Attend tea parties maybe?

Jill tossed back her long red hair, arranging her body to show off her ample curves to best advantage. “No, darling.  I knew Arthur.”

Ah, that made more sense.  Jill was attracted to powerful men and no one had been more powerful than the king.  Until he fell four stories onto that cobblestone patio, anyway.  That was one battle not even their fearless leader could win.

“I never met the man.”  Midas said mildly.  “Unless you count my trial.”

He detested Arthur, alive or dead.  In addition to the whole “tawdry, feral animal” remark, the king had done everything in his power to ruin Midas.  God, you’d think Midas was the only villain in Camelot, the way that jackass had railed against him.  If Midas was the kind of guy to hold a grudge, he’d be especially pissed over the six months he’d spent in prison thanks to Arthur’s vendetta.  Also the whole “sending men to murder him” thing.  That hadn’t been fun.

And what kind of pretentious dickhead actually used the word “tawdry,” anyway?

“Well, Arthur was fabulous.”  Jill assured him, tears welling at the thought of their lost ruler.  “Practically a saint.  He deserved so much better than that damn ice queen.  Gwen is totally heartless!”

Midas made a noncommittal sound.  People said he was heartless, too, so he wasn’t about to hold that against the girl.  And was it his imagination or were Guinevere’s breasts the absolute perfect size?  A dozen plastic surgeries could never replicate the natural, elegant shape of them.  This woman had simply been born the best.

“Their marriage certainly wasn’t a love match.”  Jill continued.  “Just some prophesized union pushed on Arthur by the wizards.  Especially by Gwen’s nut-ball father.  Her lineage is all any man would ever want from her.”

“No.  It’s not.”  The attraction she held for Midas had nothing to do with her social status.  Guinevere could have been raised in a barnyard and she still would have been fascinating.  Even someone as stupid as Arthur must have appreciated the beauty of this woman.

Jill ignored his opinion.  “Arthur and Guinevere were both totally free to see other people.”  She shook her head, like she was an expert on marriage.  Which she was, given her clientele.  “That’s the way it is with Good folk.  They always say ‘I do’ for political standing, rather than waiting for their True Love.  Especially when there’s a royal marriage on the line.”

Midas kept his eyes on Guinevere.  She didn’t look like the type to screw around on her husband, but Jill had a point.  It was impossible to underestimate what Good folk were capable of.  Besides, everyone knew Arthur wasn’t Gwen’s True Love.  Maybe she saw that as a loophole in their marriage contract.  Smart people always took advantage of the fine print, after all.  Midas had certainly heard rumors about her infidelity.

Lots of rumors.  Everyone had.

“They say that little girl isn’t even Arthur’s.”  Jill continued.  “How could she be?  She was born Bad.  What are the odds of two Good parents having a Bad baby?”

“It happens.”  Midas knew that better than most.  That bologna sandwich flashed through his mind and he shook it away.

“Well, Arthur wasn’t convinced.  Neither was I.  We discussed all their marital problems.”  She sighed, feeling sorry for the dead king and the countless ways that he’d suffered.  “He needed more than just a warm body from me.  He needed a real friend.  A partner.”

Midas glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

“We used to talk a lot!”  Jill insisted, sensing his skepticism.  “People like to talk to me after sex.  You know that.  Well, not personally, since you’re all,” she held up her hands and pointedly waved her fingers, “afflicted.”

“Cursed.”  Midas corrected, not taking offense.

“Whatever.  Point is, people like to fuck and talk.  Usually in that order.  With Arthur it was more than that, though.  He respected me.”  Jill dabbed at her eyes.  “We were so happy, until that bitch murdered him.”

That rumor was an incontrovertible fact according to half the Good folk in the kingdom.  Few of them wanted to believe the Once and Future Asshole got drunk and tumbled over a railing.  It was far more comforting to whisper that his heartless queen was behind it.

“My only consolation is the Scarecrow is making her pay for her crimes.”  Jill ranted.  “He’s going to take everything from that cold-blooded monster.”

Midas kept his attention on Guinevere, who was still arguing with his guards.  She hitched her child farther up her hip and didn’t back down from the eight-foot ogres glowering at her.  Did cold-blooded monsters hold their sleeping daughters so carefully?

“Gwen’s coming to beg for help, you know.”  Jill fairly spat out the words.  “To defeat the Scarecrow, she needs someone powerful on her side and that’s you.  But, you can’t get involved in this.”  She shook her head.  “The Scarecrow is leaving you alone right now, but you’re Bad.  If you draw too much attention…”  She trailed off and lowered her voice.  “I know enough about the Scarecrow’s plans for our kind to know they aren’t plans that you want to be a part of.”

Midas didn’t doubt that for a second.  The Scarecrow never bothered to hide his hatred of Bad folk.  His “plans” no doubt involved all of them being transported to labor camps or vanishing into rabbit holes.

“If you offer Gwen any sort of sanctuary, you’ll piss off the Scarecrow and he’ll come after you.”  Jill added, just in case Midas hadn’t reasoned that out for himself.  “These days, the best option for us is to keep our heads down and our mouths shut.”

“I’ve never been much good at blending in.”  Midas took a sip of champagne from his ornate glass.  Every inch of it was decorated with gold and engraved with intricate designs.  It had cost a fortune.  The very best crystal money could buy.

“Gwen has got nothing left to offer.”  Jill stressed.  “No money, no power…  There’s nothing in this for you.”

“Of course there’s something in it for me.”  He kept his tone bored, even as he memorized every move Guinevere made.  “I’m about to own a queen.”

Jill stared at Midas like he was out of his mind.  Maybe he was.

“You can’t be serious.”  She finally sputtered.  “That’s what this is about?  Getting that bitch into bed?  Since when do you care about sex, Midas?  You’ve never even slept with me.”  Apparently, she viewed that as conclusive proof that he was celibate.  “Is this some kind of revenge, because she was Arthur’s wife?”

“No.”  It was about Midas refusing to settle for inferior belongings.

Jill didn’t like that simple answer.  “You can’t… collect Gwen Pendragon like you do your damn paintings and horses and books.  You can’t just buy the Queen of Camelot!”

“I can buy anything.”

Jill made a frustrated sound at the finality of his tone.  “That girl is poison and I’m not standing anywhere close to you when the fallout starts.”  Her eyes were furious and betrayed.  “Don’t come whining to me when this blows up in your face.”  She went stalking off in an offended huff.  “I swear to God, you’re usually smarter than this, Midas.”

Jill was at least partially right.  It was a terrible idea to back the underdog in the battle for Camelot’s throne.  Midas knew that.  The Scarecrow was too powerful and he had the support of the kingdom’s Good folk.  Gwen was going to lose this war.  The smart play would be to keep out of her messy little life.

But no one could warn Midas away from what he wanted and he wanted the best.

It was a hopeless stance for someone like him to take.  There were two kinds of people in the world:  Those born Good and those born Bad.  Laws made sure Good folk were always on top.  People like Guinevere lived their lives insulated from people like Midas, safe behind their protective walls.  Bad folk were nothing but a disposable underclass.  Wolves and witches and ugly stepsisters never got “the best” of anything.  Society made sure of that.  If a villain like Midas wanted to possess something of real value, he had to take it.

…Unless, of course, something of real value came marching straight into his home and saved him the trouble of stealing it for himself.

Guinevere pushed past the guards and the two ogres seemed unable to stop her.  Her jaw set at a determined angle, she looked around, trying to spot someone.  Midas braced himself.  He knew what was about to happen.  Maybe he’d known from the minute he first saw her enter the ballroom and felt the magnetic pull of their connection.  Blue eyes, the exact color of Vivien’s enchanted lake, looked up at him…

And for the first time in his life, Midas belonged somewhere.

Oh God.

He’d found her.

Incredible amounts of lust and possession and fear and triumph roared through him, all mixing together so it was impossible to tell for sure what he was feeling.  So many conflicting emotions hit him so fast that it left him disoriented.  This woman could upend his whole life.  He saw it so clearly.  She could take everything from him.  For one wild second, he even debated letting her go.  Turning her away before she left him alone on a porch, with nothing at all.

No.

Midas shook off the idea as soon as it formed.  No.  He could do this.  Of course he could.  They key was not to panic.  It was no different than any other deal.  He wanted what she had and so he’d buy it.  Anything could be bought.  He just needed to stay in control and not let Guinevere see how much he was willing to pay.

Anything.  Jesus, he would pay anything.

Guinevere marched straight for him, like she expected the crowd to move out of her way.  …Which they did.  Partly because they didn’t want water dripped all over their expensive clothes and partly because Guinevere Pendragon possessed an innate air of authority.

Still, it was good to see at least one of his men wasn’t intimidated by a tiny blonde girl.  His most loyal guard, Trystan, stalked towards her with an inscrutable expression on his inscrutable face.  Trystan never worried about his wardrobe being ruined by a little water.

…Or a little blood and entrails.

The man wore the simple garments of his vanquished people, refusing to don anything else.  That choice was fine with Midas.  No one employed a gryphon for their sartorial sense.  It was mainly just for their “killing people” skills.  Trystan could do whatever he wished, because Trystan was the best warrior in Camelot and the one person in the world Midas trusted.  When you had the best on your payroll, you let them work without a lot of micromanaging.  It just made sense.

Still, Midas could handle the woman without any help from his fanatically protective bodyguard.  He waved Trystan back, ignoring the gryphon’s characteristic frown, and headed down the steps so he could meet Guinevere at the bottom.  There was something to be said for making your opponents come to you, but he didn’t want her to climb the stairs with the child in her arms.  She didn’t look strong enough to make the trip.

“Queen Guinevere.  Welcome.”  Midas said quietly, coming to a stop in front of her.

He always spoke quietly.  Given his massive build and harsh features, bellowing at people would have been redundant.  They were generally terrified enough.  As an added bonus, it helped to mask his Celliwig accent.  To his ear, the lower-class cadence never quite went away, no matter how much he tried to mask it.  Still, it was a miracle that his voice sounded even semi-normal, given the pounding in his ears.

The woman smelled like gingerbread, damn it.  That was just fighting dirty.

Guinevere’s expression lost some of its do-or-die intensity when she realized he wasn’t going to immediately kick her out.  Whatever welcome she’d anticipated, his polite greeting obviously wasn’t it.  God only knew what kind of stories Arthur had told her about Midas.  Hell, most of them were probably true.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”  He murmured, when she just blinked up at him.  “I feel as if it’s been a long time coming.”

Too fucking long.  His eyes drank her in, desire nearly dropping him to his knees.  She was beautiful in the understated, timeless way of pearls, and lace and white roses.  Beautiful in a way that couldn’t be created with the right makeup or enhanced with designer clothes, because it was part of her very bones.  Class was so obvious when you had it right in front of you.

Whatever she’d been facing recently had taken a toll, though.  Up close, he could see the exhaustion in Guinevere’s lovely eyes.  Luckily, Midas was a master at separating business from his personal feelings, so he barely felt his heart breaking, at all.  He was sure of that.

When he was in prison, the psychiatrists had gravely diagnosed that Midas was incapable of distinguishing right from wrong.  Therefore, he couldn’t possibly know that it was wrong to take advantage of this woman when she was at her weakest.  If Guinevere was tired and out of options, he could strike a better deal with her.  That was all that mattered.  As long as he stayed in control, Midas could have everything and give nothing.  That was the goal in every business transaction.  Right and wrong were immaterial.

He was very, very sure of that.

Damn it, he wanted to feed her something.  She looked too thin.

Gwen still didn’t say anything.  Instead, her gaze traveled up and down his body, taking in his colossal size.  She didn’t even reach his shoulder, so he wasn’t surprised when her grip tightened on the child and she nervously gulped.

“Can I get you anything?”  Midas pressed, afraid she would turn around and flee for the door.  She looked befuddled to be standing in front of the most notorious gangster in Camelot, even though she was the one who’d sought him out.  What could he say to make her stay?  “Maybe some food?”  She was clearly half-starved.  He really wanted to insist that she eat something, but he had a feeling it would just piss her off.  Pride was wrapped around her like a mantle.

Guinevere gave her head a quick shake, regaining her composure.  “No.  Thank you.”  Her voice sounded like liquid class, the fancy accent smooth as the finest silks.  “I’m sorry to arrive unannounced.  I didn’t know you were having a party.  I’m not dressed… um…” her gaze drifted over Midas’ purple, pinstriped, sharkskin tuxedo as if it fascinated her, “…as vibrantly as the rest of you.”

“You look fine.”  Midas assured her and it was the greatest understatement ever uttered in the history of the world.  The woman was wearing rags and still outshone everyone else in the room.  A flawless diamond set next to rhinestones.

“Thank you.”  Guinevere said again and took a deep breath, getting back on track.  For someone who appeared as delicate as a glass slipper, she was definitely a fighter.  That was so… interesting.  She squared her shoulders, ready for the next battle.  “I’d like to speak with you.”  She said in a firmer voice.  “About business.”

“What kind of business…?”

A loud commotion at the door interrupted his question.  Midas’ head snapped up as a half-dozen of Camelot’s most elite knights pushed their way into his home.  Oh for God’s sake.  If they thought he’d keep up his exorbitant bribes when they interrupted him during the most important meeting of his life…

His annoyance over an ill-timed shake-down was cut off as Guinevere let out an audible gasp.  She took a tiny step backward, closer to Midas, her hand coming up to rest protectively on her daughter’s blonde hair.  Gwen’s back was nearly touching his front, the damp hem of her tattered dress sloshing against his two-toned shoes.

Oh.

Midas was so used to being the most wanted person in the room that it hadn’t even occurred to him that the soldiers weren’t there for him.  They were there for the queen.

Wearing glistening armor and angry expressions, they began shoving past the guests and heading towards Guinevere.  Since most of the attendees had prices on their heads, the knights’ presence put a bit of a damper on the festive atmosphere.  A stampede of Baddies bolted for the doors and windows, doing a not-so-small fortune worth of damage to the furnishings in their rush.

Midas barely noticed.  “I take it this is the ‘business’ you’d like to speak to me about?”  He asked Guinevere in a calm tone.

She shot him a quick look over her shoulder, as if startled to see him standing directly behind her.  She must not have realized that she’d shifted so close, because her eyes widened in surprise.  Midas arched a brow, expecting her to jump back and stammer out excuses. No Good folk wanted to stand near the Kingpin of Camelot.

Instead of jerking away, though, Gwen leaned in even closer.  That perfect lake-blue gaze met his, earnest and clear, and Midas forgot how to breathe.

“The King’s Men are here to arrest me.”  She whispered fiercely. Both of her thin arms were wrapped around her child, as if someone might try to steal the little girl away.  Given the current mood of Camelot, it wasn’t such a farfetched idea.  “I’m a fugitive, now.”

“Well, you’re certainly at the right party, then.”  He assured her, his gaze memorizing every shiny strand of her shiny hair.  He had never wanted to touch anything so much.  Inside his gloves, his fingers ached to feel the softness.

Gwen didn’t appear to notice his distraction.  Luminous eyes darted back to gauge the knights’ approach.  “It’s my fault they’re here.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t think they were so close behind me.  I swear.  But, don’t worry.  I can handle this.”  Determination lit her patrician face. “Just… don’t worry.”

“I’ll try not to.”

She missed his sarcasm.  He could see her brain working, running scenarios.  The woman clearly had a “Damn the torpedoes!” streak, because she wasn’t going to back down from the heavily-armed force headed towards her.  “It’ll be alright.”  She took a deep breath and looked up at him, again.  “I’ll make sure they don’t hurt you.”

That was either adorable or insane.  Midas wasn’t sure which.  Before he could make up his mind, she was handing him her sleeping daughter.

“Here.  Watch Avalon for a second.”  She ordered.  “Do not let her go.”

“What?  Wait…”

But she didn’t wait and Midas was too shocked to do anything but grasp the girl when Gwen passed her to him.  He’d never held a child before.  She was too light.  Too delicate.  Shit!  He tried to keep his fingers away from her tiny body, afraid his curse would kill her.  The leather gloves he wore should protect her, but what if they somehow didn’t?

“You need to take her back.”  He said a little desperately.

Guinevere ignored him.

The child made an irritated sound at his awkward handling, blue eyes opening to peer at him in confusion.  Midas cringed, afraid to even move, and waited for her to scream bloody murder.  His face looked far more like the monster under the bed than any storybook hero.

The mud and blood and brutality of Celliwig were in his very DNA.  He had the harsh profile of a thug who’d battled his way up from the worst part of the worst village in Camelot, because that’s exactly what he’d done.  No one would ever mistake him for someone Good.  He was too big and ugly and hard to be anything but a villain.  Compared to Arthur’s aristocratic blondness, Midas’ hulking presence would terrify the child.  Hell, he terrified most adults.

Apparently, the girl wasn’t awake enough to notice she was in the grasp of a notorious mobster, though.  The Princess of Camelot stared up at his harsh features for a beat and then gave him a sleepy smile.  One teeny hand moved so it was fisted around the lapel of his expensive jacket, holding on tight.  Less than a second later, she was back to sleep, her head innocently nestled on his shoulder.

Midas blinked.

“Guinevere Pendragon!”  Percival had been named Captain of the King’s Men after Galahad was banished and he used his new position like a club.  He had brown hair, overly-bronzed armor, and a perpetual sneer that he aimed at everyone he found unworthy.  …Which was everyone.  “In the name of the Scarecrow, you are hereby under arrest.  Surrender yourself to Camelot’s justice and you will be treated fairly by his royal highness.”

“If anyone’s guilty here, it’s you, Percival.”  Guinevere snapped.  “You swore to serve this kingdom.  Instead, you’re helping a lunatic seize control and threaten all of us.  Do you really think I’m going to let that happen?”

She stood directly in front of Midas and the child like she planned to… what?  Protect them?  Was he losing his mind or was this really happening?  Midas looked over at Trystan, to see if he was the only one witnessing this crazy woman and her crazy daughter and all their craziness.

Trystan’s gaze stayed on Guinevere, scanning her for ulterior motives.  Clearly, he already regarded her as a bigger threat than Percival.  Conclusive proof that gryphons weren’t the mindless savages that people thought.

“The Scarecrow is going to purify Camelot!”  Percival roared at Guinevere.  “You may have fooled poor Galahad, ruining him with your licentious wiles, but I see right through you.  Hand over the wand.  If you don’t, you’ll die along with the evil creatures you love so much.”

“You take one more step towards my daughter and you’ll see which of us dies.”

The fierceness of Guinevere’s tone surprised Midas.  She sounded like she really meant that.  He looked down at the child in his arms, trying to make sense of it.  This girl was Bad.  He’d never known any Good folk to give a damn about a Bad folk, mother or not.

“You’re on the wrong side of history, Guinevere.”  Percival’s eyes glowed with the crazed light of a true zealot.  “The Bad folk are as dead as the gryphons, now.”  He glowered pointedly at Trystan.  “They’re all genetic mistakes, being wiped out by time and God and better men.”

Trystan watched him without expression.

Gwen wasn’t so reserved.  “You’re an idiot, Percival.  You always have been.”

“I’m right!”  He insisted passionately.  “You’re either with your own kind, a part of the Good and honorable future.  …Or you’re standing with the Bad folk, in the dirty, shadowed past.”  He jerked his chin at Midas and the dozing kindergartener like they were garbage that someone had forgotten to throw out.  “Which is it going to be?  Us or them?”

From the sodden folds of her dress, Gwen pulled out a handgun and pointed it at him.  “Take one goddamn guess, asshole.”

And then the Queen of Camelot shot Sir Percival right there in the ballroom.

Midas’ eyebrows shot up.  Well, that was interesting.

Even Trystan blinked and it took a lot to surprise someone born without emotions.

Sadly, while Guinevere was proving to be a lady of many and varied talents, she didn’t have much of an aim.  Midas blamed Arthur.  The King of the Idiots had outlawed guns, back when he was just a prince.  Not because he cared about preventing violence, but because he felt swords looked more “majestic” for his soldiers.  Therefore, all guns had to go.  It made no sense for everyone to have better weapons than the King’s Men, after all.  The result was that people in Camelot did not know how to shoot and Gwen was no exception.

The bullet missed Percival’s head, imbedding itself into his armored shoulder.  He gave a bellow of pain and surprise, stumbling backwards.  His hand came up to grasp as his wounded arm, blood trickling between his fingers.  A witch-practitioner could have him healed in no time, but he was still acting like a pussy about it.  Furious eyes flashed back to Gwen, glinting with hate. “You fucking bitch!”

“Next one goes through your traitorous heart.”  She warned, not lowering her weapon.

That would be a much harder injury to heal, so Midas was all for it.

The other knights gaped at the scene, unsure of what to do when their commander was getting his ass kicked by a small woman in a tattered peach dress.  Presumably, they’d been sent to collect Guinevere for the Scarecrow, not to engage her in combat.  The whole dumbass lot of them were better at posing with sabers at state dinners than participating in gunfights.

They looked lost as to their next step.

Amusing as the spectacle was to watch, Midas had had enough.  He moved forward, before Guinevere killed any of the tin-canned idiots.  It seemed like the kind of thing that would bother a lady, even an interesting one.  “Percival, get the hell out of my house.”  Midas commanded in a tone no Bad folk ever used when speaking to the Good.  “You’re bleeding on my carpet and it was handwoven by pixies.  Do you have any idea how long it takes them to weave rugs with their tiny little hands?  Costs a fortune.”

Guinevere’s lips parted in astonishment, like she’d forgotten Midas was capable of speech.  She glanced up at him, big blue eyes wide and hopeful.

Percival’s scowl got even deeper.  “You’re usually smarter than this, Kingpin.”  He snapped, unconsciously echoing Jill’s words.  “The Scarecrow gave us orders to leave you alone… for now.  Unless you want to be labeled an enemy of the crown, just hand over the woman and her devil-spawn.”

“No.”

Percival and Gwen both stared at Midas for a beat, not knowing what to make of the flat denial.  At lot of times people looked at him that way when he responded to their questions.  They always seemed to want elaboration, when the answer was simple and clear.

“No?”  Percival sputtered.  “What do you mean ‘no’?  You can’t just say ‘no’ to soldiers of the realm, you uppity bastard!”

“Well, I just did.”  Midas passed the child back to Gwen and stepped in front of them both.  “They’re staying and you’re leaving.  Now.”

“I’m not going fucking anywhere without her!”  Percival jabbed a finger at Guinevere.

“Yes, you are.”  Trystan and the ogres were already moving in to enforce his orders.  No one could doubt the outcome of the fight.  Not even Percival.  “It’s time for you to go.”

Gwen held her daughter tightly, still gazing up at Midas in something like wonder.  He was surprised, too.  Who could have predicted that the Kingpin of Camelot would ever protect a damsel in distress from a knight in shining armor?

Not that Gwen needed much protection.  The gun was still in her hand.

The woman was just endlessly interesting.

“Think long and hard about this, Midas.”  Percival warned, because he was clever enough not to want a physical fight, but too much of an idiot to think of a better verbal response.  “You might win today, but there will be a bigger battle coming tomorrow.  The Scarecrow can make things very uncomfortable for you.  He’s in control of the kingdom now.”

“If he has control, why is he so desperate to get his hands on Queen Guinevere?”

“She’s not the queen anymore!”

“Except she is.”  Midas didn’t give a rat’s ass about politics, but he very certainly cared about the Scarecrow and his followers attacking this woman.  “I don’t recognize that usurping dickhead or his piss-ant authority.”  He arched a brow.  “And I’m not the only one.  That’s why you’re after this woman, right?  Because there are quite a few Bad folk who won’t support your new regime.  Who will back her and the child, if there’s a war.”

“We don’t need your support.”  Percival hissed.  “By the time we’re through, you won’t be able to inflict your villainy on the rest of us.  Every damn one of you will finally know your place.”

“Oh, I know my place.  It’s right here in the house I built, on the land I own, at the party I’m hosting.  And you weren’t fucking invited.”  Midas looked over at his towering bodyguard.  “Trystan?  Kindly have the men escort Percival off of my property.  He was just leaving.”

Trystan wasn’t much for talking.  Or subtlety.  He just pulled his double-bladed axe free and spun it in his hand.  The rest of Midas’ men took the hint and reached for their own weapons.  Midas believed in hiring lots and lots of armed killers to guard his parties.  He was entertaining criminals, after all.  Who the hell knew what they might try?

The Scarecrow’s flunkies froze, weighing their options.  None of them were great.  The King’s Men were outnumbered three to one.  Hell, Trystan could have been alone with the knights and still outnumber them.

The wings alone were an advantage.

With no other options, Percival stepped back, grasping his wounded shoulder. “This isn’t over.”  He snarled, trite to the last.  “I told the Scarecrow to take care of you long ago, Midas.  You’ve always been a stupid, vulgar brute.  And that’s how you’ll be treated.”  He turned on his heel, gesturing for his men to follow, and went striding out of Midas’ home.

For the moment, anyway.

Midas had no doubt that they’d be back.  He needed more guards.  And weapons.  And supplies.  …And girly things, since Guinevere was going to stay with him for the foreseeable future.  Where else could she go?  Gwen and the child clearly weren’t safe on their own.

That fact made everything easier for Midas, actually.  For all intents and purposes, the queen and her daughter were shipwrecked in his home.  But, they’d no doubt need frilly pillows and flowery skirts and all kinds of mysterious feminine items to comfortably adapt.  They both seemed very small and dainty.  They’d need stuff he didn’t have, so he’d just have to get it for them.

Time to buy out Camelot’s weapons depots and dress shops.

Guinevere released a long breath as the knights slammed the door behind them.  “You made them leave.”  She whispered. “No one has ever defeated the King’s Men, but you frightened them away in --like-- two seconds.  That was incredible.  You were… incredible.”  She smiled as if he’d just impressed the hell out of her.

As if he was a hero instead of a tawdry feral animal.

It felt pretty fucking amazing.

“Well, you shot their captain in my ballroom.”  Midas reminded her, uncomfortable with how damn pleased he was with her obvious admiration.  “I believe that kick-started the process.”

“Yes, but I didn’t have enough bullets for all of them.”  She explained blithely.  “Actually, I’ve had this gun hidden in the palace gardens for months, buried under a statue of Arthur’s odious father.”  She glanced down at the weapon with the vaguely unsettled expression of someone who’d never really held a gun before.  “I’m kind of shocked it worked, at all.”

Midas stifled a wince at that news.  Definitely a “damn the torpedoes” kind of girl.

“So, thank you for helping us.”  She finished sincerely.  “Thank you so much.”

“It was my pleasure.”  Midas swept a gloved hand towards his office.  “Why don’t we go in here and talk about business?”

Guinevere nodded and followed him towards the elaborate double doors, like she wasn’t worried about being locked in a room with the Kingpin of Camelot.  The woman should’ve been warned about blindly trusting Bad men, but Midas certainly wasn’t fool enough to do it.

“You plan to be alone in a room with that girl when she’s still armed?”  Trystan demanded in his people’s language.  From his tone, it was clear that he thought Midas was the one blindly trusting somebody and he didn’t like it.

Midas was used to his attitude.  Trystan believed that everyone born without wings was an idiot.

Midas held the door so Guinevere could enter and met Trystan’s eyes. “I’ll be fine.”  He assured him in the gryphons’ dialect.  It wasn’t a particularly lyrical language, but, since most gryphons were long dead, only a handful of people still spoke it.  That came in handy when you wanted to communicate privately.  “The queen is half my size.”

“Arthur was bigger than her, too.”  Trystan agreed with a credible amount of sarcasm for someone so utterly humorless.  “Right up until the moment he was significantly shortened by an impact with the pavement.”

“I promise not to visit any tall balconies with her.  Just make sure the soldiers don’t double-back on us.”  Midas fixed Trystan with a warning look, because it was always a bright idea to be explicit when you dealt with a paranoid, arrogant, trained assassin who carried an arsenal everywhere he went.  “This woman is mine.”

“Since when?  She only just arrived.”

“Since now.  Do nothing to frighten her.”

“Have you missed the last few moments?  Be concerned about the violence she might inflict on you, not what I might do to her.  She is a remorseless killer.  Believe me.  I know the breed well.  You should let her people take her away and save yourself the trouble.”

Midas ignored that analysis.  “Ha’na, Trystan.”  Gryphons were born without emotions, but that word was sacrosanct.

Trystan hesitated.  “You’re sure?”

Midas nodded.  He’d never been more sure of anything.  “No matter what happens, don’t hurt her.”

Midas paid Trystan a great deal of money to act as a bodyguard, but the man wasn’t exactly a traditional employee.  He only bothered to follow directions when he agreed with them and he basically considered Midas a teenager with poor impulse control.  Despite his misgivings, though, Trystan wouldn’t hack Gwen to pieces if he understood the truth.

Sure enough, Trystan relented with a sigh.  “She is your woman.”  He agreed, grudgingly.  “But, claiming her is ill-advised, even for you and you have many stupid ideas. She is dangerous.”

Midas ignored the (no doubt accurate) naysaying.  He could no more have stayed away from Guinevere then he could have stopped the sun from setting behind Mount Baden each night.  Midas followed Gwen into the office and shut both doors, sealing them in.

…And he was finally alone with his True Love.